The Fall of a Phoenix
by JessicaJ
Summary: Neo-Midgar is entering a time of severe civil unrest. Gangs, violence, arson. Tifa fears for the safety of her friends with each passing day. But out of a desire to protect, grows unexpected feelings. [DUE A REWRITE, 24/04/2013]
1. Chapter 1

Monday; the start of another week. It is approaching midday, and I have begun my menial daily tasks; the washing, cleaning the bar, cooking. Marlene and Denzel have gone to school, and Cloud and Barret are out working for a few days. I sigh out a breath, blowing my fringe out of my face as I shake out the freshly washing bedlinen, the scent of fabric softener drifting over me.

I look up as the bell above the door of my bar tinkles suddenly; it is way before opening, and so I wonder if Cloud or one of the others has forgotten something. I walk into the back, into the cool air of the bar, and gasp in shock.

"Vincent?!" Vincent Valentine himself was stood, clutching his arm, which was bleeding profusely, dripping down his fingertips, and onto my floor. "What happened?"

"Ran into a little trouble." He says with a faint hint of sarcasm, seating himself at the bar as I rush around to his side. "Damn kids."

I inspect the wound; two bullets, quite deeply embedding into his flesh. He winces when I touch it.

"I wonder if you have anything I could use to patch it up." He says calmly. I laugh a little.

"Vincent, you're going to need some help doing this." I reach under the counter, and fumble around for my first aid box. I kept it well stocked; in times of unrest, people didn't always have access to a doctor, especially in the slums. After a while I got into the habit of leaving the door unlocked. In a city like this, people often called in for my help. And I was always in.

"I wouldn't want to trouble you, Tifa." He says, removing his coat, and wincing again as he tears the fabric of his sleeve away to give better access to the damage.

"Vincent, this isn't so much of a bar as a mini clinic." I giggle, turning around and taking two glasses and a bottle from the shelves. "I am used to this."

I place down two glasses in front of him, one filled with clear liquid, the other with brandy. He picks up the former, and sniffs it.

"Vodka?" He raises an eyebrow.

"Alcohol is a good disinfectant." I state plainly, slamming the bottle I had taken from the shelf before him. "I want you to drink as much of this as you can."

"Its not even midday." He says with a smirk that I don't miss.

"I need you verging on paraletic, Vincent. I don't have any anaesthetic." I chuckle slightly.

He eyes the glass, before downing its contents with a grimace. I fill it again.

I leave the room and return a moment later, with a bucket in my hand. He raises his eyebrows.

"In case you are sick." I say simply, turning to wash my hands in the sink. "I will start in ten minutes. I need you to have drunk at least half of that bottle first."

As he steadily drinks, his good arm starting to shake, I bite my lip slightly. Vincent had been helping Barret and the others with the cleanup of the slums. It was a dangerous job; there were gangs, exploiting the fear of the poor people, and levels of crime were rising. I constantly worried for them: the man in front on me, slowly drinking himself into a stupor a living example of my daily fears.

When his eyes began to glaze over, unfocused, staring at nothing in particular, I took a deep breath and stepped forward.

"Ok, this might sting, but try your best to stay still." I soak a cotton wool ball in the vodka and apply it to the wound, my hand resting on his shoulder, as I lean close to the injury. His muscles tense and he groans, his head resting on his folded arm. But he does not move. "I'm sorry," I apologise, as I insert a gloved finger into the wound, feeling for the slug of the bullet. Its about an inch in. I would need to get some forceps out for this.

I set some water on to boil, and take out my required instrument, all the while glancing back at him. He lay motionless, head on the bar, responding only with a grunt to my periodic inquiries.

I sterilise the enlarged metal tweezers, and approach him again. I part the wound slightly with my fingers. I am glad to see the bleeding has almost stopped, though I expected more of it to come. I daub it again with liberal amounts of alcohol and then brace myself against his shoulder, partly to support me, partly to hold him still.

"Are you ready?"I ask, forceps poised. He gives a slight nod.

He lets out a groan, bites down on his sleeve, as I grasp the tip of the slug with the forceps and… twist. It came free with a disgusting squelching sound, and I immediately cover the wound with an alcohol soaked cloth.

"That's one down, one to go!" I announce cheerfully over the sounds of him vomiting into the bucket, dropping the fragment into a bowl I had lain aside for that purpose. I rub his back gently, giving him a little time before I attempt the second one. He finishes, and slumps forward, allowing me to resume.

"You know something…" He mumbles, as I slip the forceps a little deeper into his arm, drawing from him, a low grunt of pain. "You're a remarkable woman, Tifa..." I smile a little, though I don't remove my eyes from the aim of my excavation.

"You know something, Vincent, you're drunk." I pull firmly and quickly, catching him unaware. He swallows a shout of pain, breathing heavily, his whole body trembling. "There. Now I just need to stitch you up."

I wipe away the fresh blood and set about locating the surgical needles and thread.

"I mean it…" He raises his head to watch me, leaning on his good arm. "You are an extraordinary lady. You do so much for everyone. You don't get enough credit."

I swallow, not answering straight away. Vincent never talked this way, sometimes he never talked at all. Why was he so grateful to me, all of a sudden? It had always been my role; the group mediator, the healer, the one people could rely on. But as I thought about it, he was right; I took on my role without expecting anything in return. Though I never let it bother me.

"What I mean is, Thank you." He looks me in the eyes, as I seat myself next to him at the bar. I place my hand over his on the wooden surface for a few moments, and smile.

"You are always welcome, Vincent."

We sat in silence as I stitched the large jagged 3 inch gash together. Then, after I had cleared all of my materials away, I notice he had passed out, snoring lightly as he slept. I giggle a little to myself, as I pull his limp, uninjured arm around my shoulders and encourage him to his feet, leading him into the back where I manoeuvre him onto my sofa.

It was good to see him so calm; In the days of Avalanche, he hardly every slept, if not for a restless few hours. His face was tranquil, chest rising and falling with every breath he took.

Cloud had mentioned he was staying in an inn somewhere in town; I knew there only to be a few, so I rang around. I eventually located his room, and cancelled his reservation, telling the inn keeper I would come to collect his belongings.

He would remain here with me for a while; I thought it as good an excuse as any to have him stay, to catch up with him. I had not seem him since last year, and Marlene was always asking questions.

I left the house for the inn.

***

"This is his room ma'am." The old innkeeper opened the door to reveal the sparse room, which I expected was pretty much in the same condition as Vincent had found it in. I did a quick scour of the room. Vincent's cloak and a pre-packed black bag were all I could find; He wasn't the unorganised type. I checked under the pillow out of instinct, my fingers finding what felt like a stiff piece of card. On withdrawing my hand, I looked upon what I held with a soft smile, a wave of affection for the pensive gunman welling up inside of me.

A photograph of Avalanche; it was at Christmas, with Marlene and Denzel sat with us. , I recalled. He had surprised us all by coming to stay that year, as he had declined the previous invitation.

"You're full of surprises Valentine." I mumbled to myself, as I slid the photograph into the side pocket of his bag, and left the inn, leaving a tip for the inn keeper.

***


	2. Chapter 2

_Hi everyone, here is a new chapter for you. For any of you who are familiar with my other stories, I must tell you that this one won't be so regularly updated. I haven't got chapters and chapters on reserve in case of drought!_

_But enjoy it, and remember REVIEW!!!_

____________________________________________________

Marlene was giggling, despite my warnings that she must be quiet. I had picked her and Denzel up form school, and told them Vincent would be staying with us for a little while ,until his arm got better. They demanded to know all of the gory details of the procedure; how much blood was there, did he cry, scream? And I couldn't help but laugh at them.

"Of course he didn't cry or scream." I chastised her. "Vincent would never do such a thing."

Vincent was still sleeping off the brandy at 4pm, when Marlene and I were preparing lunch. She was always keen to help me cook; chopping vegetables, stirring and tasting, and more reluctantly, washing up. She was keen to wake him, to ask him about his ordeal, though I managed to deter her somehow.

I entered the darkened living room and closed the door to the smell of cooking and the sound of the TV programme that Marlene and Denzel were watching. I crossed to the sofa and leant over Vincent's sleeping form. He was breathing deeply, still sound asleep. I felt a little guilty at waking him, though I knew he must be hungry.

"Vincent?" I shook him gently, his eyes opening, the red of the mako glowing in the dim lighting. "I have something for you to eat, if you are hungry."

He sat up slowly and stretched, careful not to strain his injured arm. "How long have I been sleeping?"

"About 5 hours." I answered, watching him stand and open the door, entering into the bar. I followed him, crossing over to the stove to check on the stew.

"Did I… drink a lot of brandy?" He asked, picking up the bottle and raising it to the light.

"Half a bottle." I chuckled, folding my arms across my chest. "A reserve as well… what a waste."

"Did… I say anything stupid?" He asked suddenly, looking embarrassed.

"No. Nothing stupid." He frowned at me for a moment. "I cancelled your room at the inn and brought your things; they're upstairs in the spare room."

"There was something that I left there" He began, his expression slightly troubled. I raise my hand to stall him.

"Don't worry. Everything is in your room."

At that moment, Barret and Cloud enter the bar, Barret's laughter filling the room with its volume. Marlene runs into his arms, and I take over where she left of stirring the stew. Vincent takes a seat at the bar and watches me idly, massaging his temples. I slap a hand to my forehead.

"Of course, I'm sorry Vincent! Here." I place on the counter a handful of pills and a glass of water. "Antibiotics, and painkillers." He knocks them back instantly, draining the water.

Barret and Cloud began grilling Vincent on where he had been all day, while I began to dish out the stew to everyone. It turned out Vincent had been working somewhere on sector 7 alone, while Cloud and Barret were located on sector 3. I frowned a little as I passed Vincent his bowl. No one should work alone in the slums; no matter how tough they were.

When my mother had died, I had had taken care of my father for a while. Then my father had died, and I had been under the wing of my instructor, Zanghan. I'd always known it wouldn't last: I had to move on, find someplace to start over again. Then there had been Barret with Marlene to tend to, and the group of 'extremists' who hadn't known how to cook. So I'd stepped into that role almost automatically.

Avalanche had been where I had come into my own; I could finally prove to everyone that I could fight, that I was strong enough to stand on my own two feet. Though eventually, there was much less saving people to do, more of living a normal life, where I had resumed my old responsibility.

I remembered the day Denzel came to us; he was a quiet, sensitive little boy who had been wandering around the street outside Tifa's bar; I remembered waving to him once in a while, inviting him in for a hot cocoa when it seemed a little to cold outside to be healthy for him. Eventually I had coaxed out of him that he was an orphan, and that all he wanted to do was go to school.

I smiled over my bowl of stew at the young boy, who pulled out his tongue in response; he had been with us for over two years; a growing boy of ten, who was growing more adorable by the minute, and who loved to do his homework a little too much.

Cloud and Barret left their bowls at the table, as Marlene and Denzel disappeared to resume their game they had been absorbed in before dinner. I took Denzel by the elbow, before he could escape.

"Don't forget to do your homework, Denzel. And make sure Marlene does hers. You know she will if you do." He nodded in agreement, and ducked out of my hold with a giggle.

With a soft sigh, I began to collect the abandoned dishes, aware that Vincent was watching me from his seat thoughtfully, his hand subconsciously resting on his wounded arm.

"Is it painful?" I inquired, stacking the bowls expertly up my arm, as I had learned many years ago, and taking them to the sink.

"It is… uncomfortable. Though you did an excellent job. There is no infection." I smiled softly behind my hair, rolling up my sleeves and beginning the task of washing the dishes. I was aware of Vincent taking up the position next to me, dish cloth in hand. He raised his hand when I turned to him to protest. "I wish to help."

"Very well." I knew him well enough to know he did not like excessive worrying, and inquiries about his health.

"You are finished now?" He asked me, sliding the pile of clean dishes onto its allocated shelve. I shook my head delicately.

"I have to help Denzel with his maths, then its bath time, then I open the bar until 1am. Then I clear the tables, then go to bed." Vincent raised an eyebrow, as Cloud entered the kitchen, his outdoor coat zipped up to his neck, his travel bag packed.

"I'll be away for a few days, Tif. Got some deliveries in Junon, and then Wutai to make." He exits out of the front door without so much as a backwards glance, and Vincent catches my silent sigh.

"You do this alone?"

"Cloud is busy with the courier jobs, and Barret is always with the volunteers. I have to take care of them all, or they'd all pass into ruin!" I laugh a little, though the mirth dies away as Vincent observes me through slightly narrowed eyes. I swallow. There was no fooling him. "I am… used to it. It is my choice." I begin to wipe down the bar with the cloth I had been holding in my hand.

He watches for a moment, before exiting the bar, leaving me with my thoughts.

Cloud was hardly ever at home anymore; when he was, we hardly ever saw eye to eye alone. I was too bust with the children, or the bar. Or he was too busy in the sector rebuilding projects. I told myself I didn't mind, that that was just Cloud, but I didn't even belief myself. We were both avoiding my feelings. Not _our_ feelings. _My_ feelings. Because that was how it was.

I was the one who had ignored his affections as a child. Then, I guess, he grew out of it. But I knew that I couldn't let myself believe that completely. I had seen his haste to sign up as a volunteer for the Midgar regeneration project. The first job had been the church. Aeris's church.

It was all to do with Aeris. I wasn't stupid; I knew how he felt about her. It was there in his eyes, whenever she smiled, whenever she was around him. I was, to him, just Tifa. Childhood Tifa, reliable Tifa, friend Tifa. I could never be anything more. And I had come to accept that. I told myself, that being able to take care of him was enough.

But as the years passed, as I grew a year older each time, I knew it would never be enough. I wasn't jealous of a dead woman. I loved her as a friend, and I could see all the reasons why he had loved her, not me. So I said nothing, and I threw myself into my work at the bar.

But with my increasing age, I began to realise that I was too old for what I was. I had grown up too fast, never done things that other girls my age had done, never had a long term boyfriend, never had a job, I never went out drinking and dancing with friends.

I didn't have time for those things.

­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­___________________________________________________________

_reviews please x_


	3. Chapter 3

_Here's another chapter, sorry it took so long, but I did write this on the train and it took a while to make sense of my illegible handwriting. I have another concept floating about, I just need to link it all in, and I'll have a really good chapter coming up. _

_PLEASE REVIEW XXX_

_______________________________________________________________________________

I had gone to bed late; the bar had needed a good cleaning, after what had been a particularly busy night. I sunk into bed at 3 am, filled with despair that I would need to be up at 7:30 am again later on in the morning.

When I awoke, however, I felt refreshed. I snuggled under the sheets, enjoying their coolness, wondering why I had woken before my alarm clock. I never woke before my alarm.

Outside, I could hear bottles clanking; the local authorities collected all of the empties from the bar on Thursdays, at 9 am.

9 am?

I shot up in bed, my hair askew, squinting in the bright sunlight bursting through my curtains. I fumbled for my clock, bringing it close to my face, as though the nearer it was, the less chance there was it was right.

Ten past nine.

I swung my legs over the bed, still trying to make sense of it all. Why hadn't my alarm gone off? I remembered setting it, before I got into bed early this morning. I glanced over at my bedside table, and noticed a neatly folded note, with my name written on it in curling elegant handwriting.

Frowning, I picked it up, unfolding the note. It simply said; _Dear Tifa, I have taken the children to school this morning. Vincent._

I smiled softly, stifling a delayed yawn and patting my disorderly hair. I brushed my teeth and washed at length, trying my best to remember the last time I had had the house to myself in the morning after a long sleep in. My conclusion was, a long time.

I padded down the stairs, still in my long night shirt, just as Vincent re-entered the bar, a handful of wildflowers clutched loosely in his hand.

"Good morning, Mr Valentine," I smile, setting the kettle on to boil. He returned my smile, and approached me, sitting at a nearby booth.

"Marlene and I selected these for you," He placed the delicate violet flowers into my hand, flowers that I passed everyday on our walk to school. Our fingers touched, my eyelashes fluttering at the contact.

"Thank you," I gush, taking in their delicate scent, as I select a small vase in which to place them. I busy myself arranging them, a soft smile playing on my lips. I tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ears. "And thank you, for doing this for me." I indicate to the note that I left open on the table. He nods, and I busy myself making tea.

"I was no problem, I was already awake." He shrugs, accepting the cup of tea I place before him with a soft smile and eye contact; and I am close enough to appreciate the wine hues, hints of ruby in his irises.

"It helps me a lot." I seat myself opposite him, and cross my legs at the ankles, sipping my tea.

"Marlene says that you don't get to bed until two, sometimes three in the morning." I nod in response. "I came in to check on you, and you were still sleeping. So I turned off your alarm."

"Thank you." I repeated.

Drinking tea, whilst chatting idly over the newspapers at breakfast, possessed a domestic but novel aspect to it that I found myself enjoying thoroughly. Vincent always came across as being quiet, withdrawn, and even cold at times, but I found that that was not the case. He was engaging, both in conversation and in manner, and I found myself at ease in his company. Something I had not expected from him, of all people.

I was overwhelmed with gratitude for the simple things that he was doing, that made my life a whole lot easier. A little break from routine was all I needed every once in a while, and it seemed that Vincent was the only one who understood that.

"Cloud called this morning," Vincent informed me, as I returned to the table with a stack of toast.

"Oh?" I raised my eyebrows impassively, resuming reading the article I had previously been occupied with reading, aware all the while that Vincent was contemplating me carefully. "Did he have anything to say?"

"Nothing; only that he had arrived in Wutai safely." I rolled my eyes automatically at his response. Vincent surveyed me over the rim of his mug. He placed it down in front of him and seemed to consider it, before raising his eyes to look at me. "You seem to expect that?"

"Yes. If he ever calls, it is only out of necessity. All he seems to do is eat, sleep and work. We barely see eye to eye these days." I rub my forehead; my stresses seemed to return with the subject of Cloud's detachment.

"And you are angry."

Vincent knows what it is like to feel how I am feeling, I assume from the empathy he is displaying, but I feel a little reluctant to talk about my feelings for Cloud. I have always been able to deal with it, keep it locked away inside. Because I knew, back then, how much more difficult it would make things. And now, in Midgar, there never seemed to be any time left in the day for myself, let along Cloud.

"I don't really want to talk about Cloud right now."

"I understand. I apologise for prying. It was… rude of me." He resumes reading, as though we had never spoken of it and I immediately feel guilty.

"Maybe some other time, I will." I think aloud. He nods.

"I will be here."


	4. Chapter 4

Vincent rattled his car keys in my ear after dinner, and Cloud raised his eyebrows at me as we shared a confused stare.

"Tifa, are you up for a drive? Cid just finished repairing my truck."

I glance around the kitchen; it was clean, I still had lots of time before opening, and Cloud could take care of everything back here on his own. I decided to humour Vincent; I was hit by a sudden pang of curiosity; Vincent wasn't usually this spontaneous, and I wondered what was making him so.

I stepped outside into the cool night, gazing up at the sky to find that we were being rewarded by the appearance of a few brazen stars. I pointed this out to Vincent, who offered a knowing smile in response, before getting into the drivers seat of his truck.

Our journey soon brought us to the borders of Midgar, and I noted that the road we were on was the once incomplete highway that ShinRa had started years ago. The tarmac moved beneath us, as I relaxed into my seat, watching the skyline unfold before me.

Where are we going? I yelled over the sound of air rushing past the windows.

I'm not telling you. He smirked, not taking his eyes away from the road.

Why not?

You're life is too predictable, too… planned.

Huh?

You need some spontaneity.

Yes…

We were driving along roads that I never knew were here; when I thought about it, I didn't remember the last time I had left Midgar for any other reason than visiting people. Even then, all I had seen was the scenery out of the train window.

The radio was playing some easy listening blues music, and I found myself tapping my fingers along to the beat on my knees, enjoying the sensation of wind in my hair. Vincent was driving at a steady pace, though when we shared a glance, and a small smile passed between us, he pushed his foot down harder on the accelerator and turned onto the next dirt road.

You don't mind going this fast?

No, I don't mind at all

Are you sure, do you feel safe?

I feel safe with you.

We had been driving for a only a few minutes, when he began to slow, and parked in front of what looked like a disused barn.

"Where are we?" I asked, hopping out of the jeep and looking around me. This was wild country; I could hear the chirping of crickets, the hoot of an owl. The trees and grasses grew tall.

"We are a few miles outside of Kalm." He answered, taking the bag of mysterious content from the back seat.

"Are you going to tell me what that is now?" I pointed to the plastic bag, eyebrows raised. In response, he shook his head, and offered me his free hand. I took it unsurely. He led me into the grass, towards the barn. He stopped in the heart of what I supposed used to be an old field, overgrown with wild. I imagined it would be a beautiful place in the day.

"Put this on." He handed me a thick leather glove. "Don't ask, just wait."

I complied, obeying his instructions to raise my arm out to the side and stand still. Finally, he opened the bag and took from it a piece of raw meat. My eyes widened with understanding.

"Just wait." He repeated, before emitted a high pitched whistle. We stood in silence, in the moonlit field, waiting. For some reason I couldn't explain, my stomach was writhing inside me, and I shivered slightly.

Then I heard it; A distant screeching sound. A sudden breeze picked up, rustling the grass, the flowers slowly swaying around my ankles.

"Here she is." Vincent whispered.

Its silhouette was against the moon for a moment; I had never seen it so big before, nor had I seen so many stars; it was almost impossible to find a blank part of the sky. The shadow swooped down towards us, and I resisted the urge to duck. A magnificent bird, with a wingspan easily as wide as that of a small child's, flew silently towards me and landed, claws extended, onto my outstretched hand.

A magnificent barn owl, with her dappled amber wings tore at the meat with her powerful beak. I looked on in amazement. I had never seen an owl before, let alone had one on my hand.

"Vincent…" I let out a strangled whisper. "She is… beautiful." He smiled at me softly.

"I haven't named her." He said thoughtfully. "Perhaps you can give her a name."

"She belongs to no-one… she is free… and wild." Vincent nodded slowly. The bird finished her meal and raised her magnificent head to observe Tifa. "Hello…"

She flexed her wings and shook her head, tilting her head this way and that, as though sizing me up. Such a creature was out of reach of humans, of constraints, of worries. What name could possibly describe that? I recalled my days at school; learning French had never been my strong point, but one word stuck out as been particularly poignant; **Liberté, meaning freedom.**

**"Liberty." I said softly, and the creature let out a high pitched screech, almost a whistle as she considered me with her clever black eyes.**

**"Raise your hand and turn it forwards." Vincent said at my side. I raised my wrist and did as he instructed, and Liberty took to the skies, her mournful cry sounding out into the night as her wings beat silently, carrying her into the wind.**

**I let my hand fall to my side, my chest constricting as I watched her flight. Vincent touched my shoulder.**

**"Are you alright?" He asked, warm eyes on me. I shivered.**

**"Yes… thank you, for bringing me here, tonight." I turned to face him, removing the glove and placing it in his open palm. His fingers closed around my hand, and he did not make to release me.**

**"You know why I brought you here, don't you?" **

**"Yes…" I sank to my knees in the grass, running my hands slowly over the surface of the flowers. Vincent placed a hand on my shoulder, his fingers cool. He was presence at my side; one that I always knew had been there. But it had taken till now to finally see it.**

**"You can fly if you choose to." **

**"I know." I answer softly, my voice barely audible over the gentle rustling of the grass in the breeze. He helps me to stand and we walk hand in hand back to his car. **

*****

Today had been a peaceful day, and I expected it would remain so, as I stepped out of the house, shielding my eyes against an unusually bright sun. My footsteps tapped on the cobble stones as I crossed the square, past the towering monument, towards the quieter side of town.

I could see the wreckage from the street; this sector had not yet been touched, still lying in peaceful ruin. I pushed the heavy wooden door open, and stepping inside the building that was my destination. The sun burst through the hole where the roof had once been, illuminating the flowers brilliantly. I squinted, taking in a slow breathe through my nose, overpowered by the scent of the place.

Aeris's church.

I always felt her here; sometimes I would hear her laugh, but if I tried to listen to hard, it would fade away. Once, in the pool of water that had collected in the hole in the floor, I saw her pink reflection watching me as I worked.

Every few weeks, when I could, I would escape to this place to tend to the flowers. They seemed to grow well enough on their own, but it was something that I felt I needed to do. I guess if I thought about it, it was my way of atoning, my way of apologising for the jealousy that I sometimes felt, for the sadness I endured because of her absence.

Some days I would be angry; why had she left us behind; Left me to exist in limbo with a man who I wanted, and at the same time, wanted to push away. I couldn't exist with him, but I couldn't imagine it any different than to what it was now. I was weak, I didn't like changes, and I certainly didn't want to cut myself off from my only remaining family.

Family… that was how I'd come to see it these days; More of a brother, someone who I relied on a lot, who depended on me, someone who would always be there. He provided me with stability, friendship and comfort. But I would never ask for anything more.

I crouched by the pool, listening to the sound of dripping, the sounds of the far away city, and the sound of bird song. It was a small haven in this part of town, and I would regret to see it fixed. It had become a refuge for me. And also, I suspected, for Cloud.

I lazily watched a butterfly drift in and out of the sun beams from my spot, toying idly with a bloom of a flower. Time had so little effect here, I noted, glancing at my watch. The only way for me to tell the shift in hours aside from my watch was the slow tilt of the sun beams, from vertical, to horizontal, the light dancing on the water surface, casting rippling diamonds onto the stone.

"Tifa?"

I raise my head, wondering how I couldn't have noticed anyone enter the church, spotting Vincent walking towards me between the lines of broken pews, the light playing with his eyes. I smile softly.

"Oh, Vincent, how did you find me here?" I move a little, to allow him to sit beside me.

"Just a hunch." He sits with me a while in silence, listening, breathing. I say nothing. Eventually, it is he who breaks the silence, letting out a slow breath and allowing his gaze to drift to me. "How often do you come here?"

"When I can," I reply, plucking a stray petal from my clothing. "It makes me feel… calm."

"Time is like water, and we are the cliffs," Vincent says after a time, and I frown as I turn to face him, wondering where he is going with this. "We resist its flow, try to stand against it until there is nothing left of us. We merely crumble."

"And if we don't resist?" I fold my arms.

"We are like the willow tree; she dips her branches in the water and she grows with time. She grows strong and wise."

"I understand your metaphor, Vincent. But I'm no Edna Pontellier, and I am certainly not a willow tree. I'm just a young woman in a big city. I am carried where the current takes me. When I want to, I will go where I please." I pause and swallow, taking a moment to observe him. My anger has surprised him, and he says nothing more. I take the initiative to continue. "My roots were burned at Nibel. I'm still trying to grow, Vincent."

"I'm sorry; I should have been more considerate."

"Don't' apologise, I know you're only trying to help. But you also, were once incapable of change. If you can grow, then surely so can I?"

"I realised that dwelling on the past is futile."

"Like the cliffs, huh?" I smile a little, reaching out a hand and touching his shoulder. Those eyes, those beautiful eyes, follow my movements, stay trained on my face. "Don't worry Vincent. I'm fine. I can take care of myself. And five others it seems!" I laugh, struggling to my feet. My muscles cramp and I stumble, clutching the back of my thighs. Vincent's fingertips rest on my elbow for a few moments; reassurance and I knew he would be there if should fall again.

"Lets go back to the bar. Marlene will be wondering where you are." Vincent and I left the church together, though as I slipped my shoulder through the gap, I turn my head at the sound of a quiet tinkling laugh, a sudden breeze rustling the flowers.

Aeris?


	5. Chapter 5

_I'm really enjoying this one actually, although I have no idea where its going! I just got this idea when I was on the train to University, and had to write it on a piece of newspaper. Hence now, I always carry a pad._

_Enjoy, and REVIEW!!!_

__________________________________________________________________________

As the weeks went by, tales of unrest reached the bar, through my patrons, and from Barret's post-work grumblings. The gangs were making movements against the workers and volunteers who were rebuilding Midgar, their message being that the whole city should by allowed to rot into the ground, and that ShinRa would return if the city grew beyond its limits.

To some extent, I could see what they were saying; The city needed to be able to sustain itself, and not have to rely on a big, power-hungry company such as ShinRa. People were wary of the modern power companies which had grown to fill the niche that ShinRa had left behind.

But people were dying. The gangs were made up of uneducated, angry youths from the slums, those which were the least prosperous back in the days of ShinRa. So far, the lives of 22 civilians had been claimed, and no arrests had been made by the civil guards.

The public were angry, and wanted justice, or so I was told by my patrons. I listened to snippets of gossip and stories of vengeance whilst maintaining the façade of cleaning glasses, and I gathered that soon, things were going to go off with a bang.

I had long ago dissuaded Barret of taking part in any movements against the gangs; we had tackled ShinRa, but I feared for the safety of the children, and the wellbeing of my friends. I wanted nothing more that to get out of the slums, and take them all somewhere safer, but I knew that we all had a place here, and it had become a home to us. So far, we had no real reason for wanting to leave.

Every evening I waited for the men to come home, fearful, due my day's acquisition of horror filled accounts. Tonight was no exception, as I leant on the doorframe awaiting their return. The Children were playing in the back, and the streets were quiet, I observed from my vantage point at the doorstep. The day was a warm one, the skies a delicate yellow as the dusk approached, the scent of evening tainted with a bitter, acrid stench, at which I wrinkled my nose.

It seemed that the city had suddenly fallen silent, and as the minutes slipped past I grew more and more agitated. Half an hour turned to an hour late, and I was on the verge of going inside to get that spare gun out from under my cash register, and going out after them, when heard screams.

I rushed down the steps, to see Barret, Cloud and Vincent round the corner, the latter draped between the other two, head slumped forward, feet trailing in the dust, blood dripping from his clothing.

"What happened?" I cried out, rushing forwards to help Barret lug his unconscious form up the stairs, relieving Cloud to tend to a nasty flesh wound on his arm.

"Fucking gangs," Barret growled, kicking the door open wider as we stumbled through. "Cudn' do nuthin'. There were kids there, Tif. Fuckin' bastards… Vince took the most of the bullets. None of us had a chance to fight."

We struggled to heave his dead weight onto the surface of the bar, sending a glass that had been sat there smashing to the floor. I disregarded it, switching to auto pilot as I retrieved all of my provisional medical supplies.

"How many bullets?" I asked, hastily tying back my hair, and taking the scissors to cut away the fabric of Vincent's blood sodden T-shirt. I grimaced at the mangled mess.

"Could only guess. About ten or so." Cloud growled with pain as he tied a makeshift bandage around his bleeding wound. "What do you need?"

I let out a slow breath, eyes wide as I swept them over the bloodied motionless form of Vincent. I remembered the kids, in the back.

"Pacify Marlene and Denzel. But don't leave this house." I turned to Barret, who for one seemed uninjured. "Can you get me some Vodka, and we'll be needing lots of towels…" He stomps out of the room, leaving me alone with Vincent's lifeless form.

I place my ear over his mouth; a steady, but rattling breath comes, followed by another, then another. I sigh with a little relief, but more so with trepidation; the wheeze tells me there is blood on his lungs; possibly a lung puncture. I wouldn't be able to do anything to help him in that department; he would have to heal on his own.

I count the punctures; Cloud's prediction had been near enough dead on. Nine bullets; thankfully only one of them had been near to his lungs, and the rest must have been fired at long range, and were embedded close to the surface. That certainly made my job easier, and also gave more hope for Vincent.

Barret returned with the towels and vodka, and I begin to wipe away at the surface, to better view my 'work surface'. Barret swears softly as he takes on the role of my assistant, passing me this that and the other.

No anaesthetic this time; I think he was too far away to realise what was happening. Most bullets came out easily; the metal bowl in which I placed them barely stopped its sonorous ringing before the next clattered in after the previous one. The one which had penetrated his chest cavity proved most tricky. It took me a while to grasp it, and it took a fair amount of manipulation to twist it out of his body. A burst of blood followed, which splattered my cheek, but I didn't stop to wipe it away, instead pressing the towel firmly against the wound.

"Shit…" Barret curses, as I toss the towel aside with the rest. I count the bullets. All nine are accounted for, and I can begin to stitch the more serious ones up.

That done, I let out a heaving sigh of relief, taking a moment to examine my reflection. My face was covered with little dots of blood, my hair unruly from the heat of the bar. It had been stifling, but I hadn't thought to turn on the fans. I wash, and return to examine Vincent.

He is still not moving, his skin glistening with sweat, marred with dirt and dried on blood. I sweep a strand of hair from his face and listen again to his breathing; steady, still full of a wheeze. I glance over his chest, a staccato of bullet wounds.

Barret had said that there were kids around when the shooting happened, and I felt a rush of pride in him, for the protection he had given so willingly. Bravery some would say. Foolish, others would say.

I let out a sigh and stretch my aching joints, rubbing at my neck with my fingers; I had been leant over him for at least two hours, and it was stiff and sore. The fans were on full blast, and I revelled in the cool blast of air that they blessed my heated skin with. I slumped into one of the booths, resting my head on my folded arms, eyes closed in weariness. I heard someone enter the bar, and stop behind me, hands coming to rest on my shoulders, and begin to gently massage out the kinks there.

"You did a good job, Tif." Cloud rubbed at my aching shoulders. I groaned in response. "I can't believe the state of things, here."

"Midgar was always a dangerous place. We were just lucky enough not to have seen it." I sighed, raising my head so I could lean back against Cloud. We remain silent for a while, both watching Vincent's unmoving form. His face was turned away from us, but I could make out the crescent of his dark eyelashes, the curve of his delicate nose.

"I never thought he could be so selfless," Cloud said after a while, his fingers circling at the base of my neck. "He just ran towards this group of kids, only fired off a few shots before he took the brunt of the bullets."

"I guess we all are, when it comes to children sometimes." As if on cue, Marlene enters the bar, and Cloud's hands drop back to his side. My skin tingled still.

"Hey, you, you ok?" I reach out my arms, and she nervously comes towards me, eyes never leaving Vincent's motionless form.

"Is Vincent going to be alright?" She asked, blue eyes wide with worry.

"I think so, your Dad and I managed to patch him up. He should wake up tomorrow sometime." She nods slowly, watching him as though expecting that he should sit up suddenly.

"Perhaps we should all go and get some rest." Cloud scratched the back of his head. "Tifa lets get him to the living room, where he can be a bit more comfortable."

We positioned ourselves either side of the bar, hooking a hand underneath his back. I lean in close, and catch that scent of his; musky, intoxicating, and dangerous. I shake myself.

"On three, Tifa. 1…2…3!"


	6. Chapter 6

The church was burning. The acrid stench of burning timber, the searing heat, the deafening roar of the flames and the cracks, as wood buckled from weight it could no longer support. All I could do was stand and watch as the building was consumed around me. Something told me to head towards the water. I could stop myself from burning, there.

The heat was unbearable; my hair clung to my face, and my skin was stained with soot, smeared in black marks. I looked at my hands; blistering, red, burned. I start to scream, realising all too late that' _the doors are on fire, I can't get out._

I do the only thing I can think of to do, and that is to crawl towards the water, coughing from the toxic fumes, the bitter taste of the dust in my mouth. I reach the water. It is not longer clear, fresh, and forgiving; its surface floats with debris, reflecting the angry orange glare, blinding me. But I fall in, praying it will offer me a better fate than the church.

As I fall, it occurs to me that I didn't remember the pool being this deep. My lungs begin to burn, as I stare longingly up at the surface. I do not see the fire anymore; I see a blue sky, trees, flowers, clouds… Something so far away.

As I reach out my hand, I choke on my last breath, those little bubbles of air rising before me the last of which I breathed, and would ever breathe again. I feel my body begin to sink… I sense myself giving up on life, accepting my fate.

Then a hand reaches out a grasps my limp wrist, pulls me towards the surface quickly, and I am filled with longing for life, for air, for light…

I woke gasping for breathe on my living room floor, the faint light of damn seeping in through the curtains, Vincent's hand holding mine tightly, his eyes wide and calm.

"You were just dreaming Tifa." He said softly, pushing the duvet aside, to free my sweating body; I had become tangled within it. II continued to breathe heavily, accepting my surroundings were real; the living room, the fresh air, _my_ house. Not the church.

"I… the church, it was… on fire." I tried to explain.

"It was a dream." He repeated. His eyes bored into mine. Their steady gaze brought me out of my confusion, and my fear, and I exhaled slowly, and steadily.

Vincent slumped back into his reclined position, wincing in pain and clutching his side. I push aside my dream.

"How are you feeling?" I slipped out of my tangles, and perched on the edge of the sofa, forgetting the fact that I was wearing a long nightshirt, crossing my bare legs.

"People are being killed, Tifa." He exclaimed suddenly, pulling himself up and around to a seated position, the pain his wounds were causing him etched into his face. "Every day in the slums, innocent lives are being lost. And for what?"

"Glory. Pride. Ignorance. I could give more reasons." I enfolded my arms around my knees and drew them close to my chest. "They have nothing to believe in. They think they know what is best."

"Any one of those kids could have been Marlene, or Denzel." He sighed, resting his forehead in his hand and massaging his brow. I swallowed down my silence, watching him carefully. I hadn't expected his reasons for placing himself in death's path to have been driven by Marlene and Denzel. Not that I had considered him to be cold, but he went on surprising me with his capacity for compassion.

"There are not enough people like you," I said gently, tenderly resting my hand on his arm, aware of a sudden shift in his demeanour at my touch.

"For a second I thought I saw Marlene… and I _knew_- well _thought_ I knew- that you were there. I just stopped thinking." My heart skipped a beat in my chest, overwhelmed with a gratitude that wasn't quite justified, touched by his protectiveness.

"Vincent… Why would you sacrifice yourself so readily?"

"You are young, and still have a life ahead of you. Who am I, but an old man with no future, no past, no promise?"

"You have a future!" I felt a surge of anger within me at his expense. "Do not think you are so unimportant to us- You are a friend. You are a part of this family."

His expression softened and I blushed a little, getting to my feet and crossing to draw the curtains to hide my embarrassment at my outburst. I could find nothing in the view of my window with which to distract myself with, and turned back to face the room. Vincent's elbows rested on his knees, his eyes were closed, and his fingers were buried in his hair.

"I have some past that is worth remembrance." I struggled to maintain an impassive expression as he crossed the room to stand before me and take my hand, gazing at it thoughtfully before he continued to speak. "And that was meeting you."

My mouth fell open at his words. It had never occurred to me that Vincent held me in such esteem, and it filled me with pride. I realised why he had tried so hard to give me a break from my hectic life, the past few weeks he had been staying with us; he genuinely thought of me as a friend.

Before I could say anything in response however, I heard my alarm sounding upstairs; clattering on the bedside table, its piecing bell audible, no doubt, to the whole sleeping household. I smiled in apology, and rush up the stairs.

And so the morning began.

*

Later that evening, Barret, Cloud and I were sat in a booth having a quiet game of cards and couple of beers. Poker had always been a secret talent of mine, a talent which was only rivalled by that of Barret. I sipped at my bottle, gazing over the top of my hand nonchalantly. Cloud was squinting, trying to fathom my poker face. He had never been able to do it.

"I'm not sure, I think Tifa's bluffing… but I've lost enough tonight, I'm out." He tossed his cards down, taking a deep drink from his beer, idly watching the game unfold between Barret and me. I call Barret's bet, he laughs gruffly, tossing equal gil into the pot. I raise my head at the sound of the door between the bar and stairs open; Vincent staggers in, his face pale, gripping tightly onto the doorframe.

I drop my hand and rush forwards. I see that his wounds, which Cloud and I had bandaged, were bleeding afresh, red stains spreading through the white gauze.

"Vincent you shouldn't be up!" I rest a hand on his chest, at the top of his bandages, my fingers in contact with his feverish skin. I blush a little, but I am relieved to find he doesn't seem perturbed by it. I help him to the booth where I had been sat previously, and he grunts as he lowers himself into the seat. He had been sleeping for most of the day, due to a large dose of painkiller I had given him.

"I'll get you a clean shirt," Cloud slips out of the booth and head for the stairs, and Barret busies himself lighting a cigar.

"Great thing you did, out there Vince. Stupid, but great." He growls, the end of the cigar burning an angry red colour, out of the gloom of the bar.

The smell of Cigars, more pungent that cigarettes, always reminded me of my father. He would often stand at the back door and smoke them; my mother had chastised him for smoking indoors, though he still obeyed her rules long after her death. I took in the scent and relaxed a little.

"Was anyone killed?" Vincent said, seeming to breathe with difficulty.

"No, don't think so. The civil guard arrived not long after, and we were getting moved out of the area. People had sense; didn' hang around long after the firs' shot." I stared at nothing, my vision fogged by the drifting cigar smoke. "You wan' a beer, Teef?"

I shook my empty and nodded, taking the cigar from him for a little while. Vincent raised an eyebrow at me, as I put it to my lips, taking a short drag.

"So?" I blow the smoke away from the table, enjoying the sensation of my muscles relaxing, seeming to undo from their knots and twists.

"May I?"

"Not sure whether I should let you," I raise my brows and shake my head slowly, angling my body away from him. "Your lungs need all the help they can get." I handed it over anyway.

"I've had worse." He chuckles, taking a deep draw from the cigar. I observe his face; how attractive he looked as he relaxed, eyes half-lidded and unseeing, lips gently parted. I shake myself, as Barret returned with beers, and Cloud, tossing Vincent a simple black shirt.

As if nothing had happened, we begin another hand.

*

We stopped playing a lot later than we had first intended; we all needed our sleep, but it felt good for all of us, to sit around and simply smoke, drink, play cards and banter with one another. It reminded me of the old days, when we hardly had a worry, Barret, me, and the rest of Avalanche in the old bar. I missed Jesse, Biggs, and Wedge.

I felt someone pause beside me, removing my sense of solitude.

"I meant to say Thank you to you, Tifa. I guess you saved my life." Vincent was closer than I had thought, and I jumped a little. He smelt of beer, bullets, and cigars, mixed with that musky scent of his skin.

"I was worried. When I saw you… I didn't know what I was dealing with." I admitted, staring at my feet. His hand reached out and touched my cheek, and the scent of him became stronger, more enticing than ever. "I thought I would lose you."

"Lose me?" His brow was furrowed; those peculiar eyes of his boring into mine, questioning me.

"I have so little left of my past. I count everyone in Avalanche as my only family." the creases dissipated, replaced by a gentle fondness that I had never seen before.

"You really are remarkable, Tifa." He smiled at me gently, and something warmed inside me.

"You've had too many beers." I chuckle, taking his wrist in my fingers, and gently prise it away from my face.

"Quite the contrary, not enough," He gives a gruff laugh. "Not enough to forget…" His expression grew suddenly serious, as he gazed at me, his ruby eyes glimmering in the warm bar-light. "There are people dying out there."

"I know…" I sighed heavily, turning to scrutinize my reflection in the oval mirror over the sink. The low lighting made my skin seem pale, and emphasised my tired looking eyes.

"I think about it everyday. What we could do to change things, like we once did."

"It's different now, though, Vincent. I can't just go out adventuring like I used to…" I tossed the dish rag aside, and slid into our previously vacated booth. Barret and Cloud were outside on the porch, smoking, their laughter washing over me, as I sat in semi darkness, Vincent taking the seat opposite me.

"I have the children to think about…" I continued, pulling my hair over one shoulder, idly running my fingers through it. "I know they aren't my children, but… I don't know. I just… I know what its like to grow up without a mother."

"The city needs Avalanche." He reasoned, leaning over the table, holding his gaze level with mine. I shook my head slowly.

"I've heard people saying that they are a neo-Avalanche, just as this is Neo-Midgar. We were terrorists Vincent! How can we claim to protect the city from people such as we once were?"

"You never killed for the sake of killing!" Vincent was trying his hardest to see the best in me, but I knew what I had done. I wiped away a few stubborn tears with the heel of my hand as I formulated my response.

"We killed hundreds of people, Vincent. We never meant to; we all had nightmares for weeks, months after the bombings. But it was necessary." I took a shaking breath.

"Are you saying that this situation isn't necessary?!" Vincent raised his hands to articulate his point. I rubbed at my temples.

"All I'm saying is that we are in no position to preach." I whispered, suddenly exhausted. "If you'll excuse me, I need to go to bed."

I left the bar, aware of Vincent's set jaw, Barret and Cloud's enquiring stares from the doorway on my back. I turned on the bathroom tap with a shaking hand and splashed at my flushed face with cold water. My face gazed back at me, droplets sliding down the curves of my cheeks like tears.

Murderers? I had tried and tried to lie to myself that that had not, and never would be the case, that Avalanche were doing what was best. But I couldn't ignore that we had killed men, women, _children_ in the bombings. It haunted me every day.

I wasn't a terrorist. Was I… the savoir of the planet, a hero? No. I was Tifa Lockheart; a young Nibel woman, A bartender, A stand-in mother. Cloud's childhood friend, Vincent's comrade.

Nobody.

I cried myself to sleep that night.


	7. Chapter 7

Reviews have been drying up again, although I notice a few new readers trying to creep unnoticed onto the scene. PLEASE REVIEW because otherwise I lack the drive to continue,

I have plans for this story, but I need your support.

Enjoy.

________________________________________________________________________________

I heard a knock at the door, and I cursed, withdrawing my hands from elbow-deep dishwater. I rushed to answer it whilst drying my hands in the progress. I opened the door to a Civil Guard officer, who for some reason, was alone, and fully helmeted. I frowned. I never knew they made house calls.

"Come in." I step to one side, and allow him to pass. As I close the door, he begins to unbuckle his helmet; I recognised those hands; pale, delicate, with strong fingers; Hands that I had seen fire a gun, hold a whiskey glass, clutch a bleeding wound…

Vincent's face was revealed to me from underneath the helmet, his hair shorter, stuck up this way and that. I took a moment to compose myself. The body suit was navy blue, with black protection pads at the knees, elbows and shoulders. Black lace up boots, and a belt which holstered a standard issue firearm, baton, and hand cuffs.

"I joined the civil guard." He said needlessly, the helmet tucked under his arm. On opening my mouth to speak, I found no words.

"Is _this_ your way of giving the city what it needs?" I choked, struggling to keep the irony from my tone, massaging my throat with idle fingers.

"If that's what you want to call it, then yes." He set the helmet down on a table, and stretches, his bones clicking into place. "I felt that it was something I needed to do."

"Well, then I have no grudge against you for that. Just…" I pause before him, struck dumb by how attractive I suddenly found him. I felt a blush creep up my neck as I forced myself to say something, to cover the awkward silence. "Try not to get hurt. I don't know how much more of your bullet wounds I can take." _How much more of seeing you half naked, seeing you bleeding and maybe one day there will be nothing I can do to help and_

"Tifa?" Vincent's brow was furrowed.

"Hm? What? Oh, sorry, I… I'm just a little shocked that's all." I muttered quietly, busying myself wiping a few glasses and depositing them on the correct shelf. With that done and nothing else to distract myself with, I found no other option but to face him.

I can't put a finger on what his expression isn't telling me, as he stands with his weight on one leg, brows furrowed, arms folded across his chest. Something caught between being thoughtful, and knowing something he shouldn't and I shivered a little as his eyes penetrate my façade. With a sigh, I let it fall away, hitching myself up onto one of the bar stools.

"You want to say something else."

"Yes, but it's not my place to say it."

"Please, indulge me."

"Vincent…"

"Don't feel you have to remain silent." He takes the stool next to me, making it impossible to avoid him any longer.

I heave a sigh. "I'm terrified of death; I have been for many years. Not of my own death; I hardened myself against that fear a long time ago." I recalled the scent of musty leather, the creak of the punch bag as I pummelled away all of my stresses in my youth, learning to channel my anger, my hatred, to cushion my fear. "My mother, father, Nibelheim, and… Aeris. Sephiroth took the all away." His name seemed to suck the warmth out of the room, and I shivered again, running my hand along my arm.

"Tifa…" Vincent's frown dissipated, his set jaw, gone, as he realised the true source for my anger regarding the Neo-Midgar Gangs.

"I have always found something to distract myself with, a way of looking out for the people I cared about so I could ease my conscience a little." I gazed around the room; the fans drifted about lazily, though serving only to send the hairs on the back of my neck on end, at the sudden chill in the room. "The bar in sector 7, then there was Cloud, then the children, and the new bar… taking care of you when you were hurt…"

"Do not feel that you are responsible for me, Tifa. I have my own reasons for wanting to do this, just as you have your reasons for doing all that you do for others." I turned my face towards him, resting my cheek on my interlaced fingers.

"And what reasons are they?"

"For one, standard issue bullet vest," At this I gave a small chuckle. "And two… I get a chance to protect the people I care about most. To repay you for all that you have done."

"To atone…" I said aloud, recalling my first encounter with Vincent, in the depths of the cold basement of the ShinRa mansion, in Nibelheim. He had scared me so, then; those deep eyes, reflecting so much pain, so much anguish and suffering, I couldn't help but want to help _him_. But his anger, his raging desire to atone for something he called his 'sin', along with his fury in battle did all but let me closer to him, instead keeping me away.

"Did you ever find your forgiveness?" I addressed him again, aware that his mind seemed to be in a far off place.

"I found it within myself, yes." He answered quietly. "I saw that I was not the only one who suffered." He stared at me meaningfully, and I swallowed. "If _you_ could put aside all of your fears, all of your emotions, and live out your life… If Avalanche could justify what they did every single day, then so could I."

"Well, then, I am glad that you feel that way. When we first knew you, you were very different to how you are now."

"Back then I was torn up inside by a consuming desire for something that I would never have," Vincent continued, his voice controlled. I glanced up to find his expression distant, full of a pain that was still just as agonizing as it had always been, a fear that had never left him. "Now, I do not allow myself such pursuits, for fear of what could return to plague my dreams."

I frowned. "Vincent… Desire is not a sin. It is something we all feel, and something we shouldn't be ashamed to feel. No one will think any less of you." I placed a hand on his forearm, shocked, as he withdrew as though I had burned him there.

"I cannot allow it. There are other people outside the influence that could get hurt."

I watched helplessly as he left his seat swinging in his wake, helmet dangling from one hand as he left the bar, leaving my mind reeling, still seated at the bar.

What had just happened?

Vincent had spoken of desire as though it were a disease he feared would plague him. I replayed the conversation over and over in my mind and came to the conclusion that he was suffering from his inability to accept the past, and embrace the present, no matter what he tried to tell me. He was resisting his natural instincts, his urges, the things that made people such as he and myself, human.

But then, I thought with a sigh, Vincent had, at one point, not seen himself as human. More of a monster trapped in the body of a man. I wished I could do something to help him see otherwise, but I knew that Vincent's past, his complexes, his faults, ran deep like infected wounds; Poisoning him on the inside, fleeing from the truth as though it were antiseptic.

My thoughts plagued me throughout the day; Marlene sensed it, but she ceased to question me after a while. Cloud sensed it too, though he knew better to ask in front of the children. I was thankful he made up for my absence of mind by entertaining Denzel and Marlene, giving me much needed time to gather my thoughts.

What was happening to me?

Ever since Vincent had arrived a few months ago, bleeding onto the floor of my bar, my life had suddenly begun to change, shifting beneath my feet like sand. He had become the friend I never thought I had been missing; filling the place that I never thought would be, by such a man.

The evening seemed to fast forward; Lunch, getting the kids ready for bed, having a shower, cleaning up, until I found a moment to slide into a barstool and rest my weary head on my folded arms and drift into a restless doze. The house made noises around me; the sound of water running, footsteps on the landing, the sound of the TV left on in the living room. It all comforted me; sounds of home, that I had come to know so well.

I was too far gone to hear the bar door open, hear boots thud on the wooden floor. It took gentle fingers on my forehead, moving my hair aside, to wake me.

"Vincent?" I mumbled, disorientated, unsure of where I was. Had I fallen asleep at the bar for long? I could no longer place Marlene's small feet pattering about upstairs.

"No. It's Cloud."

"Sorry. I thought…"

"You and Vincent argued." He stated, taking the seat next to me, setting two beers down on the bar. I sip one gratefully, and sigh heavily.

"I guess we did… thought its not the kind of argument I'm used to." I chuckle a little, but I know it doesn't reach my eyes, and I let it die away into the empty bar.

"I heard some of it." He admitted, his hand finding the back of his neck, as he often did when he felt uneasy. "And I made a couple of conclusions."

"And they are…" I raised my beer to my lips.

"Well… I think that Vincent is… I think he feels something for you."

"What?" I choked a little, preventing myself from spitting my mouthful onto my lap, hand pressed to my lips. "Are you serious?!"

"He joined the civil guard to protect _you._"

"No you're wrong. _Us_, Cloud, _Everyone_. Not just me." I push the bottle away from me and groan, threading my fingers into my hair. "Vincent is just finding ways to atone, as he always has."

"Atone for what?"

"Our mistakes, Avalanche's mistakes... He wants to make us see that if he can forgive himself, then so can we." Cloud narrowed his eyes.

"Sure. But I think he doesn't know it himself yet, but he wants you to see him as not just the shell of a man we found in Nibelheim."

"But I don't!" I protested. "I see him as… as a friend."

"Well, Tifa…" Cloud lowered his voice as Vincent entered the bar, returning from his training. He hopped down from his seat and kissed my forehead. "You need to make sure he knows that."

I stared after him, aware that Vincent had watched the exchange with unreadable eyes, my skin tingling where his lips had been.

"Did I interrupt something?" Vincent asked quietly, not moving from the centre of the room. I sigh, and approach him, passing him the beer I had neglected. He drained it in one, and set it aside.

"No, we were done." I inspected his face; his cheeks were filled with colour, and though he seemed exhausted, he appeared invigorated by the day's experiences. "How was training?"

"Painful." He grunted, shrugging off his bullet vest, letting it fall to the floor with a heavy thud. "One of the bullet wounds has been giving me some trouble."

"Let me take a look," I insisted, ushering him into a seat, doing my best to maintain an impassive expression that tried to convey that I was only interested in the bullet wound, that I shouldn't be embarrassed about watching him undress.

It was an angry looking red wound; a few testy prods here and there told me that it was most likely infected. "I'll have to give you some antibiotics for this one, Vincent. It looks nasty. Though the others seemed to be healing well."

His eyes were closed, and I sensed that he was trying his best not to flinch away from the contact of my skin with his; his shoulder gave an involuntary shudder as I placed my hand there. I took a breath. I should be the strong one; as people knew me to be. There shouldn't have been any reason why I was making him act so out of character.

Or was it really out of character? Had Vincent always been this adverse to contact, and nobody had ever come close enough to notice?

I told myself constantly that Cloud was wrong, that Vincent had no motivations for joining the Civil guard, other than that he felt he had a responsibility. But his behaviour was leading me to question myself.

"Vincent… Is there something wrong?"

"No." He answered, though a little to quickly. I think we both realised this, as he exhaled heavily, wearily. "I'm just not used to… _this_."

"You mean touching you?" I perched on the edge of the table to consider him.

"Yes… No. I don't know Tifa."

_He doesn't know it himself yet, but he wants you to see him as not just the shell of a man we found in Nibelheim._

"You didn't have such a problem when you first came here, a few months ago, with two bullets in your arm." I said softly.

"Tifa…"

"If I am making you uncomfortable in any way, then I apologise…" I swallowed, suddenly feeling guilty.

"Don't apologise. Just… forget it."

"Right, forget it." I smiled, although my confused emotions would not let me maintain it for long.

I only allowed my face crumple when I reached the safety of the utility room, the drone of the washing machine and the dryer drowning out my sobs.

I was opening up old wounds. Wounds that I knew I couldn't simply heal with the aid of a little alcohol, and some stitches. Both for Vincent and myself; Vincent because he had never truly forgotten how dangerous attraction and emotions could be; and me, because I was always holding back.

The door opened, and I swiftly wiped away any tears, busying myself with the washer to give myself a few moments to compose myself.

"Tifa…"

"You are my friend, Vincent." I kept my back turned. "I would never do anything to jeopardise that, if it made you feel uncomfortable."

I waited for his response. When I received none, I turned around from my crouched position to find him stood behind me, hand outstretched to help me to my feet. He hauled me to a standing position, our eyes level, and our gaze unwavering.

"I want to protect you from the evils of this god forsaken city. I know I could never convince you to leave, so this was the next best thing I could think to do." He pointed to the gold badge of the civil guard, shining on his shirt.

"Why me?"

"Because… you remind me so much of myself, how I once was. You put Cloud's happiness first, you let him go. You were able to overcome what I could not." He stalled; his eyes glimmering suddenly, with what I suspected were tears. He blinked them back. "You and I are those who are left behind."

"Left behind?"

"I know you still love Cloud somewhere inside, and I respect you for how you can handle yourself."

I didn't answer, instead pressing my hand to my throat, where it burned from holding back my tears. "Is that what you honestly think?" I eventually choked, realising that Vincent still held my hand.

"I don't understand."

"I have made my peace with Cloud, and Aeris. Each day I stayed hung up over him, was a day I was being drained of my being. I couldn't carry on like that, Vincent. Cloud knows I love him, and that I would do anything for him. But we have agreed it is best to be friends."

Friends, with no extras. Friends who could support each other, who relied on each other one hundred percent.

Nothing had been harder than telling him how I felt. I remember the burn in my throat, the sting on my tears as acutely as ever. I relived the moment in my dreams for weeks; suffering, but slowly healing. It felt oddly cleansing to feel my built up pain, sadness, and aggression, simply leak away until there was nothing left: Until I was a clean slate again.

A new Tifa, the Tifa that was honest, true to herself. I vowed I would never let myself suffer again, in that way. The only was to ease the pain was to let my defences and my reservations fall away, bare myself to the world.

"Like we are friends." I whispered, touching his chest, where his heart pounded in is chest, against my palm. "I'm not a foolish girl anymore. I'm nearly 24. Too old, to carry on keeping little secrets."

"I envy you." He admitted, a cynical laugh escaping his lips. "I am 31 and I still don't know my place in the world. I still can't move forwards. I have accepted my past, but I can't seem to find the right path into my future."

"What does your heart tell you?"

"I… don't know. I don't know how to listen to it anymore." He placed his hand over mine, on his chest. "I never allowed myself to."

"Until Lucrecia, you listened to it then, right?" I probed gently. His shifted a little, probably from being in an uncomfortable situation that he couldn't walk away from.

"I… couldn't find the balance between listening to my heart and my head."

"My heart was telling me that I loved Cloud, but my head told me he would never be ready."

"My heart told me there had to be something I could do to stop her from… my head told me that she would never listen."

"She would never have wanted this for you."

"How can you say that?"

"I don't know… I just think that if she cared about you, even half as much as I do, she would never have wanted you to suffer so much, to blame yourself for everything, and never find peace." I prised my hands free of his, and made to leave the room. "Just promise me one thing?"

"Promise you?"

"That you'll come home safe."

"You know I could promise you the world, but I would only leave you disappointed. I cannot promise you that. I can only assure you that I will try my best."

I nodded slowly. That was the answer I had been looking for. Cloud had promised to save me, but I couldn't hold him responsible for failing. I was a foolish girl then, looking for a hero. Since then, I learned that the only person I could rely on wholly was myself.

I slipped into a dreamless sleep that night, though I dreaded the days to come. I knew that things in Neo-Midgar would only get worse before they got better. And Vincent was throwing himself into the throng of it, as though seeking death, only to laugh full in its face in defiance.

Rather him, he thought, than me.


	8. Chapter 8

I didn't know how it had gotten so bad. With each passing day came more distressing tales; innocent shop keepers shot dead as they opened their stalls-- daylight killers-- and it scared people, perhaps a lot more that the furtive, night time raids.

Every day that Vincent returned I heaved a sigh of relief and taking his helmet from his hands, I silently pass him glass after glass of whiskey. And I would listen to him recount his daily skirmishes, between mouthfuls of soup, voices low so as not to wake the others.

It may have been the dead of night, but, I told him each time, I wouldn't sleep unless he was in safe, and fed.

"… I can't believe how bad it's gotten." He whispered one evening, his eyes bloodshot, from weariness. "No kids. Yet. When it comes to that… I don't know how I'd feel." He drains his third whiskey, and stares into the bottom of the glass.

"As long as you keep your head. That's all I can ask." I watched him rotate his neck, groaning a little, no doubt due to some pulled muscle.

I stepped into place behind him, tentatively placing my fingertips at the nape of his neck. When he made no move to resist my touch, I began to gently circle my finger tips downwards, beneath his collar, aware that he loosened it slightly to allow better access.

"You don't have to do this, you know." He murmured, resting his head on his arms, eyes closed. I smiled at the back of his head, and continued, working my way back up, fingers entwining momentarily in his hair.

"I know I don't. I'll tell you again, but I won't sleep until I know you come back safe."

"What happens if I don't?" I take time to formulate my response, wordlessly continuing to work out the kinks in his muscles.

"You aren't relaxing." I grunted as I worked a little harder on a tensed part of his shoulders.

"You're not answering my question." I slowed my movements, and sighed deeply.

Caught off guard, he took hold of my wrist in a vice like grip, and pulled me forwards. I lurched, unbalanced, and he got me into a headlock, laughing a little as I gasped in shock.

"Get offa me!" I growled, gripping his arm with my fingers, to prevent any excess pressure on my neck.

"Or what?"

I brought my leg in front of his, and tucked an arm around his lower back. In one swift movement, I shoved with my shoulder, using his own weight against him as he lost control of where he was falling. Still holding tightly onto his arm, I tugged forcefully, rotating his body towards me. In a reversal of fortune, he was now on his back, my knee in his chest. He struggled, coughing, as I applied pressure to his wind pipe.

"This is what." I breathe against his cheek. He blinked at me a few times, before relaxing.

"Ok, ok, I give in."

I shifted my knee, my legs either side of his thighs, though I did not release his wrists, which I had pinned above his head. "If you don't come back, I will hunt you down." I whispered in his ear, all too aware of his involuntary shiver, beneath my body. As I pull away, our eyes meet, and I see something in them that I did not expect.

Open surprise at our proximity, but he does and says nothing to suggest that he is out of his comfort zone. I let out a steady breath against his cheek, aware of how loud it sounds in the stillness that surrounds us. My knees ache from pressing onto the hardwood beneath us, but I do not show my discomfort. His eyes begin to explore my face, and I would have given my bar to know what he was thinking.

"I think I might need another massage after this." He laughs a little, his chest moving against mine as he does so. "Training or none, I still couldn't get you to the ground."

"It depends on your tactics." I reply smoothly. "A head lock has so many defensive disadvantages."

"Then what would you have suggested?" He retorts, his body almost completely relaxed into submission.

"A more… diversionary approach would have been more successful." I feel the buzz of the alcohol abate as my heart flutters.

Is he going to…?

It had been a blasé comment, and if had been anyone else other than Vincent, I would have expected this response. But it was Vincent, and I am both shocked, and incapacitated, as he closes the short distance between us, my unsteady breath the only thing the passes between us. I forget everything else for a moment; forget the implications of my own words, the context of this conversation, this predicament.

But I recall it all too clearly, and curse my own lack of foresight, as he worked his wrist free from my slackened grip, and grips my shoulders, unbalancing me. All it took was an application of force, and then he rights himself, and I am left on my side, palms out to steady myself.

"Diversion… I'll remember that in future." He clears his throat.

I stare down at the floor, cheeks burning, only able to see his boots through the curtain of my hair. Should I feel ashamed? Or was he just as guilty as me, for giving me the impression he was going to kiss me? He had no intention, it was merely a diversion. At least I hadn't made _too_ much of a fool of myself.

"Tifa."

I compose myself, raising my eyes as he towers over me, hand outstretched. Helping me to my feet, as a good will gesture. I cough slightly, if not to cover the awkward silence, and my sudden urge to giggle. Our eyes meet. I notice the corners of his mouth twitch slightly, his eyes failing to conceal how the light danced in them.

"I will come home as long I know you are waiting."

My mirth abated, and I wore a saddened smile, tentatively raising my fingers to brush away imaginary hair. His eyes gently traced the lines of my face, as we stood together, in appreciative silence.

"I will always wait for you."

*

Somewhere in the week, I find the time to train. I tell myself it will probably by the last opportunity I will get in a while. It is becoming more and more dangerous on the streets, even in the daytime. I inhale the scent of fresh sweat, and the musty scent of leather. I hear the pounding of fists on punch bags, the cries of two people sparring, the echoes of shouts in the main hall.

I wind cloth around my knuckles, and tie back my hair. Fists raised, I visualise that the leather punch bag before me is not a leather punch bag. Instead, I will it to take the form of something I dislike, something I need to protect myself from.

I carried with me memories of proverbs, which I had breathed out on each breath, pounding the leather, the phrase on repeat, amalgamating into one conscious thought. I recalled something indistinct, from years ago.

_In the moment when I truly understand my enemy, understand him well enough to defeat him, then in that very moment I also love him._

Funny thing, really, I thought, executing a series of swift punches, and elbow jabs. I had waited years to exact my revenge on Sephiroth, to let him feel my anger, the years of anguish and grief that I carried with me. Yet as I watched him fall, saw the fear in those eyes, I felt the last thing I expected to feel.

Pity. 

_Not understanding your enemy, makes you angry, Tifa,_ Zanghan had said._ If you cannot understand them, you cannot expect to win._

I executed a swift round house kick, the punch bag sent swinging from the impact. Chest heaving, I waited for its return, before pounding into it with my fists. A rapid tempo pounds in my ears, my choice of music somewhat angry today. I grimace as I pause in my routine, performing some simple stretches, aware of droplets of sweat rolling down my skin.

I understood them well enough. I probably hadn't been unlike them, once. Full of illusions of the world, then angry, when I realised it wasn't what I had pictured it to be. Like a shiny red apple, that when bitten into, was found to be rotten. I showered under a jet almost too hot to bear, washing away the sweat; the pent up aggression, frustration, and bitterness I had kept hidden. I was not proud of these emotions.

Fighting, training, discipline, had always been my way of letting them wash away.


	9. Chapter 9

Author's note: Sorry this next instalment took so long, I had to find my thread again, and to further deepen the metaphor, I couldn't see without my bloody glasses. The ending of this one was actually I dream I had. A darn good one, I'm sure you will agree. Please enjoy, and PLEASE review, I've had no contact for ages of anyone. Plus I've done a couple of one shots recently, so if you're a regular reader, please do find them and let me know what you think. 

_***_

The guns had been firing well into the night. After a few hours, I could almost imagine they were heavy raindrops, battering against the window pains. With each shot, my fears grew. Had Vincent fired that last bullet? Had it in fact claimed him, resulting in that temporary lull, as his team mates dragged his bleeding corpse out of the line of fire, only to continue?

"Tifa?" Cloud called my name softly from the doorway of my bedroom. Relieved to be offered a reprieve from my turbulent imaginings, I passed out into the hall, gently pulling the door shut behind me; Marlene and Denzel were sleeping on my bed, curled up with the duvet tucked tightly around their sleeping forms.

"Any news?" I whispered, my arms drawn tightly across my body.

"No," He sighed, offering me a weak smile. "He'll be alright, Tifa, they've been taking heavy fire out there, but knowing Vincent, he won't go down without a fight. Don't give up hope."

He wrapped his arm briefly around my shoulders and pressed his lips to my forehead, though I drew neither warmth nor comfort from it.

"I'm trying."

***

As the night approached, I maintained my vigil at the window. Not a soul seemed to be out there; only the gunfire gave any indication that people sill lived and breathed in the city at all. Only dead men walked, it seemed. It would only be a matter of time, before the bullet claimed the life it was seeking. The gunshots were less frequent now, occurring in frenzied bursts intermittently followed by minutes of dead silence. And I couldn't decide which unnerved me the most.

'_We've had no word as of yet from the civil…. holding off fire in the… regions… report… heavy losses…'_

The background drone of the news report, spewing out of the badly tuned radio Cloud had set up downstairs, invaded my silence, and I was torn between seating myself in front of it, desperate for any scrap of hope, and picking it up and throwing against the nearest wall. 

_'Civilians are advised to prepare for several days of remaining…hide valuables… so… the gangs…. further violence…'_

I moved from my watch post, joints aching, to seat myself at the bar next a dishevelled Cloud.

"I don't know how to cope, Cloud," I murmured, running my fingers through my tangled hair. He angled his body towards me, blue eyes weary, yet bright, trained on my face.

"Just sit tight. It'll be over soon."

"I hope it is."

"What are we going to do when this is over Tifa?" Cloud shifts in his seat, and I allow the silence following his question to lengthen. "I mean, we can't stay here. It's too dangerous now. Perhaps we should--"

"Cloud, Cloud…" I raise my palm, voice heavy with stress. "I know what should be done but… I feel that, like Vincent, we should be doing something to help."

"You mean keeping the bar open and contributing to the economy?!" He laughed harshly, and I cringed, eyebrows knotted angrily.

"I mean staying to see it through, help rebuild Midgar."

"Tifa, Midgar is… its like a phoenix. It will rise out of its own filthy ashes to live and die all over again. And it doesn't need us here to assure that."

"I don't picture a very bright phoenix." I smiled dryly.

"No. It's a sickly, grey phoenix with feathers missing, but still a phoenix." We gaze thoughtfully into nothing, the fading reception of the radio a background track to our conversation.

"Avalanche is not a phoenix. We are just… we are just people." Cloud sighed heavily, his fist a thud on the bar as he lets it drop. "I'm not sure that we are in the position to save something we were once in the process of destroying."

I nodded at this. I had said as much to Vincent, who of course, had not agreed. I heaved a sigh, trailing my fingers along the grain of the wooden bar top.

"D'you hear that?" Cloud said suddenly, straightening in his chair. I listened intently as he leant over to switch the babbling radio off, my ears strained for anything out of the blue. But there was nothing. _Nothing_. No gun fire.

***

The PHS rang shrilly into the silence, making Cloud and I jump. He fumbled with it for a few seconds, before pressing it to his ear with a shaking hand.

"Hello?" Cloud listened intently, while I hovered in front of him, nibbling my lip nervously. "Right… Yes, I understand." He cast a glance at me intermittently through his silence, as he listened intently to the person on the other end of the line. "Yes… Yes. I will-- thank you." He snapped the device shut. I bounced on the balls of my feet.

"Well?" I desperately tried to read any indications from Cloud's expression, but he betrayed nothing.

"Vincent is safe-" I heaved a sigh. "But the situation is still on knife-point. He wants Barret to take the kids to Kalm, and he asked me to help shift out other children to the nearby towns."

"And me?"

"He's sending somebody for you. He says to not open the door to anyone other that a civil guard officer." I nodded slowly. Cloud placed a hand on my shoulder awkwardly, before pulling me into an awkward embrace. "I want you to know that… you deserve better than this life, Tifa."

I frowned into his shoulder. "What?"

"I'm sorry I was never able to give you the security that Vincent has given you." I pulled back to gaze into his face, a face that I loved dearly. "I know I haven't been… the easiest person to live with over the years. And I thank you for being the support that I never realised I relied on so much."

"Cloud…" I fought against the tears that were threatening to spill, my throat burning. "I love you, and I will always be that support if you need it." I touched his cheek with my fingertips.

"I love you too, Tifa." He kissed my temple softly, his lips lingering there for a moment, before he pulled away from our embrace. "Wait here for Vincent. I'll go wake the others."

With that, he me stood in the bar, my head whirling. Vincent was safe, Vincent was _safe_. It became a sort of mantra that I repeated over and over to try and speed up time, spur me into an existence where his presence was definite, stood in front of me, tall and imposing as always. A world I didn't know I could survive without.

The hours slid by without my notice; I had thrown myself into packing everything away, mentally preparing myself to say goodbye to this place. This bar had been my home for three years, and they had been a happy three years, after a year of uncertainty, wandering, trying to find if I belonged in a world of quiet.

And the unrest had made me feel alive. Perhaps Vincent was right; maybe the city needed us. We slept while it grew, trying to find its place in a rapidly vanishing world, until it slipped, consumed by its own expansion. Then and only then, would we rise up and save it from itself. Was that our purpose? To keep our hands wrapped tightly around the heart of Midgar, ready to squeeze it repeatedly, mimicking its usual beating, keeping it alive, when it should be dead?

I glanced over the empty bar, the fans lazily turning above me, preventing the air from being still. I watched the dust particles float in and out of the sun beams filtering through the blinds. I trailed my fingers over the bar, along the backs of the chairs, letting them come to rest on the wall by a window. I moved about the room and opened all of the blinds to the light of day, squinting in the sunlight.

Over the city hung a shroud of fog; it could be from the pollution, it could have been a natural haze. I didn't know.

"Tifa?" Marlene's soft voice was at my side. I crouched so our eyes were level. "You are waiting for Vincent?"

"Yes. I will follow you soon." I reached out and let one of the girl's delicate brown curls twist around my fingers. "Don't be afraid, he will take care of me."

"You need to take care of him. Me and Denzel will look after Cloud and Daddy." I giggled a little. Another strong, independent woman in the making. I only hoped she didn't follow in too many of my footsteps.

Too soon I was saying goodbye, watching them load their belongings into the back of Barret's battered truck. I locked the door behind them and prepared myself for a wait.

I armed myself; just in case, I repeated in my mind, going through the procedure mentally, in the manner than I recalled Vincent teaching me. An indistinct memory from a campfire years ago. '_Safety off, ammo in place, raise to eye level, breathe. Aim, then fire.'_

Daylight was beginning to fade, the sunset a fuzzy red haze on the city's skyline, symbolic of the blood that had been spilled. the PHS had sounded, though it was only Cloud telling me they had reached a safe house in Kalm, and that I should expect some new soon.

Then, a knock.

I opened the door without a moment's hesitation. I knew exactly who it would be; I could tell from the unhurried knocking, the tall dark shadow on the other side of the glass.

He burst through the door as soon as my fumbling hands were able to tackle the lock, taking me in his arms, and closing the door with his foot. I tugged him close by the front of his bullet jacket, into the empty bar. Silently, Vincent cupped my face in his hands and without any reservations, he pressed his lips against mine. I let a small moan escape; part surprise, part something else-- something that made my stomach flip violently within me, made my heart race in my chest, and made my hands hold him all the more tighter to me. There was a momentary pause- had he realised a mistake, that he shouldn't be kissing me?-- but it passed. His eyes softened, taking in my expression briefly, before sighing quietly and moving closer to claim my lips again.

I couldn't get enough of him; I held his face to mine, my lips moving against his with a hunger I didn't know I had been harbouring. He slowed the pace, biting gently on my bottom lip, drawing an involuntary moan from deep within me. And I realised with a sudden leap of my heart, that we were alone; that Marlene, Denzel, Cloud and Barret had left for Kalm.

"Vincent…" I whispered, as his lips moved to my jaw line, pausing briefly at my throat. I leaned back a little, my breathing heavy and erratic.

I shoved him roughly in the direction of the hallway, and he took no further persuasion; though I couldn't wait any longer, and we somehow ended up lying on the floor of the bar, my back pressed to the hardwood, his weight hovering above me as he placed gentle kisses along my collar bone.

"I'm so glad you're alright." I said, my voice thick, fingers entwined in his. He raised his eyes to meet mine, their swirling amber hues soothing me.

"I'm so glad you waited. Although you should have just gone to Kalm. I would have found you there." He tried to sound angered by my need to remain behind. I furrowed my brow.

"You didn't ask for me to wait?" In response, he shook his head. And I suddenly understood. Cloud was offering us time together. A gift I never thought I would appreciate so much.

"Cloud has had ideas for us, I see." He murmured into my hair, placing a gentle kiss on my forehead.

"Cloud has nothing to do with this. I could have gone to Kalm if I wanted. Your truck is outside." I smiled gently, reaching up to move a strand of hair out of his eyes. "I needed to tell you something."

"And what is that?"

"I'm staying here. You were right."

"I am about many things. Please specify." His eyes danced a little with a silent smile.

"Midgar's heart never really started beating after ShinRa. We need to finish what we started."

______________________________________________________________________________


End file.
